by James Ward
Steck and Grundstrom exchanged a knowing glance. “We charge them and hope we guessed their position correctly,” said Grundstrom. Then he added, “Finish this man to man if you have to. Otherwise we’re all dead men.” Both Steck and Grundstrom knew that this would be only the first of many steps to survival. No use planning the next moves until this one was accomplished. They agreed to make their move in twenty minutes. That would make it about eight pm.
They lay still, waiting. Steck could hear the sound of machines in the distance. He figured the bad guys were moving more assets into position. A beam of light flickered from over the ridge behind them in the direction of the Marib Dam.
“They should wait until first light tomorrow,” offered Grundstrom. Steck grunted, hoping he was right.
_________
Chris Taylor was still at Al Kafajy Trading Company’s Amman office. He had dismissed the rest of the staff at seven-thirty pm, directing them to stay available all night in case he needed to call them back to work. He had telephoned Aliyah to cancel their dinner date, but she insisted on bringing food to him at the office. She was due to arrive at eight o’clock, ten minutes from now.
Chris lit a cigarette, waiting for the Cairo office to answer his cell phone. After many rings, a perturbed voice answered in Arabic. “The office of Al Kafajy trading is closed for the day.”
“This is Taylor.”
“Oh! Mister Taylor! I did not know it was you, sir!” The voice spoke in English with attention. It was Mahmoud El Saeed, the office manager. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“I am interested in the shipment we discussed yesterday, incoming from Peru.”
“Let me check on that. Just one moment please.” El Saeed put the line on hold.
Chris picked a shred of tobacco from his lip then took a deep draught of smoke from his cigarette. He flicked the tip into the ash tray, absently studying the company’s logo imprinted on the glass as he exhaled. El Saeed came back on the line. “The shipment was received in apparent good order this afternoon. It is consigned on a flight tonight at eleven o’clock to Amman.”
“Very well, Thank you Mahmoud. Fax me the waybill number to the Amman office, please.”
“You’re most welcome, sir. I will fax it right away. I hope you enjoy your evening, sir”
“I will. Please give my regards to your wife and family, Mahmoud.” The business-speak observed, Chris clicked off.
Lighting his next cigarette from the stub of the last, Chris tried again to ring the satphone of Nancy Kinnear. A man’s voice answered in English. Chris tensed. “Is Miss Kinnear about?” He enquired cautiously.
“Who is calling please?” It was a soft male voice.
Chris hesitated. Finally he said, “An old student friend from Amman.”
The man who had answered put his hand over the receiver and mumbled something unintelligible. After a pause, the voice said, “She is unable to come to the phone at the moment. She asks who is calling and would you please leave a message.”
“No Message. I’ll call again later.” Chris clicked off. He tamped out the cigarette and began to form an impression of the tricky conversation just ended. He was interrupted by a knock at the door and the cheerful voice of his friend Aliyah.
Chris opened the front door and welcomed her with a warm embrace. She gestured to a big basket full of delicious smelling food on the door stoop. Chris scooped it and exclaimed, “It smells as if you have really prepared a feast.”
CHAPTER 16
Steck and baby face managed to slip un-noticed through the darkness, taking up their eight o’clock position, while Grundstrom and the pilot were ready at four o’clock. When all was set, they were waiting in the darkness for Greg and the old man to start the operation. While waiting, he had felt the buzz of Kinnear’s satphone in his pocket and had a brief dilemma over whether to answer and potentially betray his position. Finally, he answered almost in a whisper. The only piece of information he had gleaned from verbal sparring with the voice on the other end was that the call probably had originated in Amman. It was better than nothing, something to report to Morgan later, even if it turned out to be his last report before leaving this life.
At the appointed time, the old man threw his rock and Greg fired two white flares. Startled, the insurgents began to fire wildly. One stood up just as the flares dimmed. Grundstrom dropped him with a two shot burst.
The others began moving, trying to flank Grundstrom’s position. Greg fired another flare. Steck and baby face knelt at the ready.
“Bingo,” thought Steck as the bright flare caught the two remaining enemy with their backs exposed to him. “Take the one to the right,” Whispered baby face. Steck nodded. Both men fired at once, bringing both of the enemy down.
After a few silent minutes, Steck decided to test whether any of the enemy could still function. He shouted to Grundstrom. “Is everyone okay?”
“Okay,” came the reply.
“Greg?”
“Okay.”
Steck stood up, lit his flashlight and began a purposely noisy retreat back toward the main tent, taking care to keep cover at hand. No shots and no movement were heard. When he and the others had reached the tent, he ordered Greg to put up more flares. “Keep them coming to light my way. I’m going to confirm the number of their dead.”
Baby face joined him and together they found fourteen bodies in all, no survivors.
Back at the tent, they gathered to acknowledge their victory and to plan their next move. Wigglesworth produced a first aid kit. One of the archeological team was a doctor of sorts, a Brit who had forsaken his ill-paid job as a doctor in Britain for another one in archeology. He cleaned Greg’s wound, declaring it just a nick in the flesh. Greg stated that the discomfort far exceeded the apparent triviality of his wound. He would not be sitting for long periods of time over the next few weeks.
Steck and Grundstrom took a short walk outside to talk in privacy. “You were pretty cool and very effective during that fracas,” Steck offered.
“You were pretty good yourself,” returned Grundstrom with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to work with you.”
“Well, the way I see it, this was probably only the opening round,” said Steck. Grundstrom agreed.
“The way I see it,” said Steck, “we have two main issues. The first is how to get out of this scum-hole before more unfrieldlies show up. The second is what to do with the professor and his team.” He could still hear the noise to the other side of the wadi, and gestured in that direction.
Grundstrom acknowledged the noise with a gesture. “If that’s our enemy, they won’t come lightly armed this time. I figure they’ll come at dawn. If they’re night trained they’ll arrive in less than an hour. As for the professor, remember it was one of his people that betrayed us. I say we leave him and his friends. They would be a liability in another fire fight, and it looks like they have some sort of relationship with whoever just tried to kill us.”
Steck seemed momentarily attracted to that thought, but was keen to question Wigglesworth at length. He needed to understand why they had been attacked and by whom. Leaving the old man here could do more harm than help to the JUMP team’s quest. “I need to interrogate the old buzzard.”
“If we take him, it reduces our chances of ever getting out of Yemen to near zero,” reasoned Grundstrom. “Without a helicopter, we have to negotiate a hundred and seventy miles of God-forsaken desert chock full of terrorists. We already have one injured guy that probably can’t make the hike. To drag a freaking octogenarian along would be suicide.”
After more talk, they decided to discuss it with the others and then risk voice contact with their respective organizations. As soon as they tele-communicated they would have to make a run to some new position.
Back at the tent, they gathered the pilot, baby face and Greg to discuss their options. The pilot was just opening his mouth to speak, when the camp lit up like Christmas. The noise of two helicopters was overhead. St
eck and Grundstrom frowned. The pilot smiled. “I was about to tell you I got a distress signal off before I crashed,” he shouted above the noise. “That’s the sound of our machines!”
It turned out to be two helicopters in Saudi military markings. One was a twin rotor CH-47, the kind used to ferry troops. The other was a Cobra gunship.
Almost giddy about these new resources, Steck shouted to Grundstrom. “How the heck did you guys get these?”
“Never underestimate my boss,” replied the grinning Gundstrom.
“You’re right,” Steck offered. “Randy Pullin is the most resourceful man I know.”
Grundstrom gave Steck a quizzical look. “So you know the man?”
Steck nodded. “At this moment, I’m real glad to know the man!”
The two aircraft set down at the cleared area near the dig normally used as a makeshift helipad for supply runs. Since they now had the capacity, they offered to take the professor and his team of about a dozen with them. The professor refused at first.
“Were those guys that just attacked us your friends?” asked Steck.
“No, they were not,” Was the reply.
“In that case you’ve got two choices professor. You stay and take your chances with those hostiles or you come with us. For the sake of your team, I think you better come with us.” Steck was prepared to force this issue if he had to.
Wigglesworth discussed it with his team, and they decided to leave the dig. They hastily gathered some records and personal belongings then clambered on board the CH-47.
Ten minutes later, the two ships lifted off, with all safely on board. As they sped through the desert night, Steck grilled Professor Wigglesworth. He needed answers to many questions.
_________
Ryall Morgan’s satphone buzzed at about four o’clock am. He bounded half asleep from the cot he had occupied in Lindsley’s office and clicked both the answer and speaker buttons. Lindsley and Susan Deet both wiped sleep from their eyes, sitting up straight on their respective cots.
“Morgan, It’s Pullin,” the wide-awake voice announced. “We retrieved them all. One has a minor injury. Twenty-one of the bad guys are dead. The professor is in our custody in Jeddah.”
“Good work, Colonel,” Morgan blurted. “I knew I could count on you,” he lied. Ryall stared at Lindsley who returned a ‘go figure’ gesture.
“Who is the injured one?” Morgan hoped it was not one of his men.
“Greg Liss,” was the reply. “He’ll be okay, just a scratch, I hear.”
“Thanks. We’ll talk later today.” said Morgan.
“Just don’t forget where to send the check.” Randy said sardonically.
_________
At five o’clock am, a silver Mercedes 500S wheeled into the customs holding area at Amman’s international airport. In silk business suits, Chris Taylor and one of the Al Kafajy Trading company’s staff emerged from the back and entered the customs office. They were armed with the necessary paperwork and also with two cartons of American cigarettes and a wad of cash to be used to grease the way for release of their incoming shipment. Ten minutes later, they left the airport with the crate containing their prize safely tucked in the trunk of the big auto. Chris could now breathe a bit easier, having come to the final part of his mission. He smoked a cigarette and read the Jordanian morning newspaper during the ride back to the office.
Chris would greet the boss and his entourage later in the day as they arrived on the mid-afternoon flight from Paris. Until then, he had some time to make last minute arrangements and hopefully to get some rest.
At seven o’clock, he held a staff meeting to go over the final preparations for the weekend ‘conference’ at the Royal Amman hotel. The fourteen room penthouse suite would be where Mister Al Kafajy and his family stayed. It would also be the site of the bidding, with a final sale to be arranged before the guests left the hotel on Monday. All thirty-four luxury suites in the hotel had been reserved by Al Kafajy Trading Company for Thursday through Monday. Four private dining rooms would be available 24 hours daily for the guests of Al Kafajy. No service of the hotel would be denied the honored guests at any time, and no guest would pay for anything they wanted, even in the large shopping mall that was part of the hotel property. A Mercedes and driver would be provided for each guest. Generous tips would be provided to the entire hotel staff. A meeting with hotel management assured that Al Kafajy’s guests would be treated as royalty. Some of them would be royalty, after all.
The crate was opened and the Hand of Mohammed was removed, checked carefully by two experts in antiquities and deposited in a sack of fine gold cloth. Satisfied with the provenance of his prize, Chris took it with him in a leather brief chained to his wrist.
At nine-fifteen am, satisfied that all was ready, Chris decided to retire to his room at the Royal Amman. On the way, he telephoned Aliyah, explaining that he would be out of touch for the next five days but would call her Monday evening. He suggested they could take a vacation for a few days at a posh beach club in Dubai at the end of the next week. She sounded excited about that prospect. He arrived at the Royal Amman about ten am. At his room, Chris opened the door to the adjoining room and knocked. The connecting door was opened by a burly fellow named Tariq. He had served Mister Al Kafajy as a bodyguard for more than ten years. His mission today was to assure that nothing happened to either Chris or the parcel he was carrying. After thoroughly checking Chris’ room, and supervising the deposition of the prize into the room safe, the tough guy assumed his guard duty position in the next room leaving the connecting door ajar. Chris ate some chocolate, part of the welcome basket that the hotel provided for all guests. Changing into jeans and a tee, he lay down to take a nap.
CHAPTER 17
At their hotel in Jeddah Bob Steck and Greg Liss had just finished a verbal de-briefing with the JUMP team via satphone. They had gained a lot of information from Doctor Wigglesworth about The Hand of Mohammed, its provenance throughout history and its significance for the current era of Islamist terrorism. Most of this had just confirmed the fears of the JUMP team. Their mission was now of the highest priority. The implication scenarios would be written and sent to the top national security advisors. A report would then be made to the President at his daily security briefing.
The open issues and subject of JUMP team’s next assignment were first, identify Nancy Kinnear and second find out what organization had attacked the dig site in Yemen.
Wigglesworth had explained that Nancy was one of his students at Dartmouth. She had volunteered for a summer internship at a dig in Turkey seven years back. The professor had taken a liking to her, admiring her hard work and her keen mind. She had stayed on as an employee of the Wigglesworth team through digs in Turkey, Armenia, Somalia and Yemen. Along the way, she had accumulated two advanced degrees. She was a trusted member of the archeological community and had authored several original papers about Arab antiquities. The professor had no knowledge of her involvement with any national or terrorist groups. He seemed distraught about her death.
Steck was disturbed by Nancy’s apparent skills in combat. Her band of twenty armed fighters could have been members of any one of several terrorist groups that had training camps in the Yemeni outback.
Steck made his feelings clear to Morgan, Lindsley and the others about Nancy. “She stole a photo of the figurine. We don’t know whether she passed it on or to whom. I think we can assume she did pass it to someone she was working for. She was committed so strongly to her real employer that she accepted an order to take a team of mercenaries and to kill our whole team. Even if this had been successful it would blow her seven years cover with Wigglesworth and leave her with the prospect of killing the professor and the whole expedition to cover her actions. That tells me this was no casual operation and that we are up against an adversary that will not hesitate to kill on a grand scale to protect its operation.”
“Greg, what do you think about this Nancy?” asked Lindsley.
Somehow at Lindsley’s words, Greg’s mind conjured the link to Nancy Kinnear that he had failed to recall. “Why I just remembered, she was in a framed photo with the professor and others that is beside the telephone in Doctor Wigglesworth’s study.”
“Should we send someone to interview Missus Wigglesworth?”
“Perhaps,” offered Greg, “but I would like to do that myself.”
“We don’t have much time to do this, Greg.” Lindsley exchanged a look with Ryall Morgan. “I’m going to send Susan today.”
“Greg’s flying back to Washington tonight,” said Steck.
Greg flashed a look. It was the first he had heard of the flight. Steck motioned at Greg’s bandaged backside and rolled his eyes. “Greg needs some time to recover from his wound.”
“Will you come with him?” asked Lindsley.
“I think I should stay here until the archeological team is moved out of the kingdom.” Steck asserted. They are not here legally. We need to make arrangements with our angels to get them to a place of safety. I’m thinking they could be dropped in Aden, where they can use their Yemeni visas.”
“Good thinking, Bob.” Ryall Morgan’s tone sounded authoritative. “I think you should stay in the middle-east for now and run some issues to ground for us in Jordan. I sent you a communiqué about that today.” He did not want to discuss his concerns about terrorist movements verbally, even on a supposedly secure satphone connection.
“I received it and have studied it,” said Steck. “I agree that we need to stay close to that. Do I have other assets at my disposal?”
“Yes you do,” Morgan stated. “The present angels will remain involved at your direction and discretion. You also have our bureau in Amman. Do you need their contact information?”
“Negative. They’re all old friends.”
“We’re all glad that you are workin’ this, Mister Bob,” Drawled Lindsley. “My people have a file opened on Miss Kinnear. You’ll get a complete report on that within a day.”